There's No Such Thing As a Cat Owner
by lunarays
Summary: AU fic. Reduced to a slave, Quatre Winner must rely on his intelligence, cunning and even good looks to regain what he had lost to Treize Khushrenada. Will his plan be complicated by one Trowa Barton? Eventual 3x4
1. Chapter 1

The silence of the desert night was disturbed by the heavy footfalls of galloping horses.

"Stop right there! In the name of Duke Khushrenada, I command you to stop!"

The two horses in front showed no sign of slowing down despite the imperative. One was a golden stallion that was once elegant and graceful, but now was sweating profusely from non-stop running. On its back sat a couple of noble heritage - Lord Winner and his beautiful wife Quaterina - owners of the desert lands. The other was a handsome white horse named Sandrock, with the young Winner heir and the family's loyal servant Rashid riding on its back.

Behind them a group of sixty horses chased. There were only twenty or so horsemen including Duke Khushrenada himself, and they changed horses as soon as the steed below them showed any signs of tiring. Thus with every step they gained ground, and would soon catch up with the small party in front.

The golden stallion gave a distressed wail when its legs suddenly gave out beneath it. It fell to the ground with a thud and the two passengers were thrown roughly to the ground. They got up immediately, hands automatically seeking each other in their love.

"Ma...umph!" The fifteen year-old young heir's despairing cry for his parents was muffled by the strong hand of Rashid. The existence of Lord Quatre Winner had to be kept a secret, so that he might be spared from the tragedy that was about to happen.

It was Lord Winner's decision to keep the existence of his only son a secret. After all, he was the forth in line for throne, behind Prince Milliardo, Duke Dekim and Duke Trieze. A powerful man had many enemies, and for his son to get hurt or threatened was the last thing Lord Winner wished to see. Power struggles that resulted in assassinations were not rare among the nobles.

The Duke was right behind. All would be lost if he heard the boy calling the couple his "Mother" and "Father". When Treize got rid of his enemies he got rid of them completely - younglings, servants and all - none were spared.

Thrusting the reins of Sandrock into the hands of the young heir, Rashid spoke fiercely into the ear of his young charge.

"Sandrock is a rare mare. She'll be able to outrun the wind itself with only you on her back. You have the ring, do you? Keep hold of it well, and prove your heritage and rights to Princess Relena. You are our only hope, Master Quatre - do avenge us all!"

As childhood playmates, Princess Relena was the only nobility that knew of Quatre and his rightful status as the heir of the Winner family. The ring that Rashid mentioned was a token of the Winner family handed down from generations to generations, given as a favour by the King long ago. On it was an aquamarine as wide as the first section of a forefinger.

Before Quatre could protest Rashid had jumped off the horse with an animalistic snarl - a battle cry of loyal servant. He smacked the white horse hard on the rear, and it shot forward like an arrow with its lightened load.

Returning to his master and mistress, Rashid stood between them and the coming horsemen, belligerently holding his sword. Lord Winner followed suit and pulled out his own rapier, ready to for a fight to death.

Quaterina was pallid, but her expression, brave. She tightened her fist around the hilt of her hidden dagger.

The horses stopped before them, and the horsemen got down on their feet. Still on his horse, Duke Khushrenada signaled his men to charge with a wave of his hand.

Rashid raised his sword to block the blade clashing down on him, then used his strength to push the offending metal away, before thrusting forward his blade to cut down the man before him. He could feel his Master fighting back to back with him. Two swords rained down upon him this time, and he had no choice but to block one of them with his arm. Blood spurted from the slash and fell upon the parched sand. He roared.

Lord Winner was faring worst. His wife gasped in horror as she saw a blade ram through her husband's shoulder, but he didn't even wince. She tried to throw herself between the deadly swords and her husband, but shrieked in pain when someone pulled her golden hair to keep her where she was.

"Quaterina!"

Distracted by her scream, Lord Winner turned to look at her. The wolfish attackers grabbed the opportunity to flick his rapier away. It sailed through the air in a parabola and stabbed into the sand some distance away.

Quaterina's anguished cry cut through the night as her husband's blood splattered on her silken night clothes. Rashid went wild and slashed at everything in sight, but he was too brought down by the sheer number of enemies.

She wailed a wail that came from the wounded core of her very soul.

She barely noticed when the almighty Trieze Khushrenada walked up to her to lift her chin and wipe her tears away gently. Before he could ask her if she would like to live with him instead, Quaterina Winner smiled her sweetest smile and tried to plunge her dagger into the murderer of her family. He cursed and pushed her away, but not quick enough as the dagger left an ugly slash across his waist.

As she lifted the dagger to cut her own throat, Quaterina Winner whispered a prayer into the stars of the desert sky.

"Dear Gods, please keep my Quatre safe..."

A shooting star sailed across the night as she fell softly on the sand.

* * *

Sandrock, as though she understood the plight of her young master, ran as fast as she could and ignored Quatre's cries for her to turn back. He didn't know why, but when he saw the shooting star in the East he knew that it was already too late to turn back. Thus he clutched on tightly to Sandrock's mane and convinced himself that tears were only flowing from his eyes due to the stinging sand that hit his face

The attack had come deep in the night, when the whole mansion was asleep. Their attackers were well-prepared too, dressed in sleek black clothes that blended in perfectly with the moonless night that seemed to be in cahoots with them. They were taken completely by surprise, and Quatre had found himself roughly awakened from his sleep just to be grabbed by Rashid. The next moment they were fleeing on their horses.

Yet he caught the one name that mattered most, in midst of the chaos.

Trieze Khushrenada, his father's long-standing enemy in the court of the King, was behind this. Trieze had fallen out of grace with King Peacecraft due to his passion for wars - The King shared Lord Winner's pacific attitude in settling conflicts with neighboring Kingdoms. Perhaps this had fanned Trieze's jealousy towards his father.

Whatever the reason, it was an undisputable fact that Trieze Khushrenada had murdered his family and taken his land. Quatre ground his teeth in flaming rage in his realization.

It was well into the morning when Quatre finally rode out of the deserts and into the savanna ruled by Duke Dekim. Dismounting his white mare, Quatre led the animal to a nearby waterhole to drink. He himself knelt down by the water and cupped a handful of the refreshing liquid to wash his face, before dipping his head beneath the surface of the live-giving water to drink greedily.

He needed an identity, he thought to himself as he leaned against his horse for a brief rest after the long night. Everyone had identity papers as prove of their right of abode in the Sank Kingdom, ruled by the Peacecraft Monarch. It was a huge Kingdom, consisting of various sectors of land under the rule of different nobles, with the central, most fertile land under the direct control of the Peacecraft family. The deserts that his family watched over were arid, but full of precious resources in the forms of metal and crystal mines.

He needed an identity that would allow him access to the royal banquets, where he would be able to meet Relena most likely. Quatre pulled out the aquamarine ring and stared at the blue stone. Similar tokens were held by the master of each noble household, as prove of their status with land under their name. After he met Relena, all he had to do was to present the ring as prove of his true identity as Lord Winner, then he would be able to testify against Trieze of the crimes he had done.

And the only thing he could think of now was to be a slave - it was not like he could find a real job without any identity papers. As long as he was picked up by someone important enough to get close to the royal family...

Decision made, he tied the ring to the tail of Sandrock and hid it in midst of all the hair. While there were no slave traders in the Winner's lands, there were definitely some prominent slave markets in the lands of the cruel Duke Dekim.

* * *

A/N:

Many slave! Quatre fics in the fandom depicts Quatre as submissive, weepy and generally without a backbone. This fic is written with the aim to defy that stereotype, so Quatre will be anything but submissive in this story. If Trowa ever calls Quatre as his "little one" in the course of this fic...well, he'l live to regret it. XD


	2. Chapter 2

Three weeks in the hellhole of a slave's cell passed slower than three centuries for Quatre, who had lived a luxurious life for the last fifteen years. The water was muddy, the bread harder than stone, and his 'bed' was but a prickly haystack. Just the mentioning of such a possibility would have been ridiculous to him twenty one days ago, but it had dreadfully become his reality somehow.

The slave market was circular in design, and open with a courtyard in the center, not unlike an amphitheater. The slaves' cells were located at the perimeter of the circular building, while the courtyard was used for activities such as public auctions. Due to this design, the chilling autumn winds could easily blow into the cells. Quatre's tattered rags did nothing to protect him from the cold and his reluctance had prevented him from eating or drinking much. Even if he could stand the cold and the hunger, he loathed that wretched metal collar they clamped around his neck. Those sordid slave traders had pulled him around by the chain attached to his collar, and when he screeched in protest they did not hesitate to discipline him with a quick slash of the whip. That wicked leather always made shallow cuts - never deep enough to maim, but large enough so that it stung painfully.

He had more than once thought of ending his pathetic excuse of an existence during the first week, and found that he could not, for when he was not under surveillance his wrists would be bound in manacles. He tore at them as hard as he could, until the metal edge bit into his wrists and the tender flesh was rubbed raw from the friction. He would wake up in the middle of the night to weep, to curse, and then weep all over again over the overbearing question of 'why'. Why him? Why his family?

Gradually his madness quieted down and he pulled himself together, remembering why he walked in here willingly and what he had to do. Beneath his self-pity there was something that burned more strongly, more permanently - flames of hatred and rage - flames that stood out against any other emotions in the flow of time. He began to prepare for the day when a suitable buyer would arrive. He stashed away water that was comparatively clean even if it meant that he would go thirsty almost every day, and ran his fingers through his hair every morning to do his best to keep the soft blonde locks free of unsightly tangles.

The first customer to show interest in him was a rich snob with no political influence or whatsoever. He had a round red face and wore a bright red coat, making him look like a roasted pig. When his fat hand reached out to examine Quatre, the blonde boy bit down on that disgusting limb as hard as he could, earning a horrible yelp that was strangely satisfying to hear. Needless to say, the customer was sufficiently deterred from buying the violent, disobedient slave.

The slave traders - three of them - came into his cell that night, not holding the familiar whip but instead wearing thick riding boots. Quatre had expected them, but that didn't mean he had no fear of the expectant reciprocal of that act he pulled during the day. It was common sense to know that a disobedient slave was worth less than nothing.

The kicks came, in his stomach, in his ribs, on his shins, and there were feet that stomped on his arms, his elbows and his hands. He tried writhing his body this way and that in a hopeless effort to dodge the pain, but the cruel, ever present manacles prevented any useful movements. They could pull him back like an animal by the chain at his collar even if he could crawl away.

He didn't know how long they were at it, but when it finally ended Quatre was too sore to even lift his finger. It hurt too much to cry.

* * *

Quatre's head perked up at the sound of boots that signaled the arrival of a buyer. Since the first customer he had learnt to keep himself inconspicuous, almost invisible, to undesirable buyers. He had covered the fair complexion of his face with dirt, and pretended to be undesirable and stupid by staring at the wall with dull eyes and mouth slightly hanging open. His bruises were almost healed already, with all that time to recuperate.

But today was different. The potential buyer had an air of elegance about him that hinted of noble upbringing. He didn't wrinkle his nose at the smell, nor did he wear flashy colours as though to announce his presence to the world. It was good manners among the nobles to keep one's displeasure to oneself, and flashy colours were deemed vain, improper and almost foolish for those who held real power in their hands.

The man was tall - a brunette - and young, only a year or two older than the Winner heir. He wore black - a tight black woolen turtleneck, straight black trousers and a black, unbuttoned single-breasted frock coat with carmine trimmings. Similar carmine seams could be found on the straps of his black leather boots. A lean but muscular body could be seen under the clothes.

Yet, it was the brunette's strange bangs - spiky bangs that were grown out to cover one half of the face - that caught Quatre's attention. Trowa Barton! - his mind screamed. Though Quatre had never seen him, the heir of the Barton family was famous (or infamous) for two things - strange hair and an unrivalled love for cats.

Dekim Barton was third in line to the throne. His daughter Leia Barton, who had died five years ago, had been the wife of Trieze himself. And this made Trowa Barton both a brother-in-law to Trieze and a person important enough to be invited to royal banquets. Thank you dear Gods!

Quatre sprang into action immediately to wash himself clean with the water he had stored and allow his handsome features to show. When Trowa Barton walked past his cell, Quatre deliberately hissed and arched his back slightly but gracefully in reminiscent of a threatened feline. The footfalls stopped in front of him, and his aquamarine eyes met with the single, emerald eye not covered by hair.

"Your Highness! May I bring to your attention that this slave is violent and disobedient? This is a difficult specimen and..."

The slave trader's ugly voice was cut short by a glare from the single emerald eye. Turning his attention back to the exotic golden 'feline', Trowa slowly put his hand between the bars of the cell to touch the blonde boy's cheek.

Quatre pretended to hesitate for a moment before momentarily brushing his cheek against the offered hand. He even went as far to let out a small, sad sound that was between a whimper and a meow.

"What is your name?"

"Cat...Quatre, sir." He answered as he tried to look defiant and pitiful at the same time.

Completely captivated, Trowa told the slave traders that this was 'the one' without taking his eyes or hand off the blonde for a moment. The traders didn't need to be told that this slave should be handled with respect and freed from any form of bindings.

* * *

It was a bit of a challenge to act the role of a traumatized kitten. Quatre had to look cute but proud, scared but curious, dangerous but graceful. So far he seemed to be quite successful, judging by the gentle way his new 'master' gazed at him. It was utmost fortunate that Trowa Barton had such a glaring soft spot for cats.

Without warning, the noble suddenly lifted Quatre off his feet and carried him sideways. Quatre struggled in surprise and kicked. However, the taller boy held him firmly until the blonde gave up his half-hearted attempt to flee. Trowa then proceeded to walk out of the slave market towards a brown sturdy stallion tied to one of the many docking posts.

"This is my horse Heavyarms. Have you ever ridden a horse?" Trowa put Quatre down on his feet and guided his hand to stroke the stallion's back.

"I..." Quatre once again pretended to hesitate, as if unsure of himself. "I...have a horse...myself. I let her go free in these areas when I was caught. May I call for her, sir?"

Trowa raised his one visible eyebrow, slightly surprised. Then his lips parted in amusement at how adorable the blonde looked as he fumbled with his words.

"Go ahead."

With the permission Quatre stuck two fingers into his mouth and puffed his cheeks to blow a loud whistle. And he blew again, and again, with different intervals between each sound, until he formed a distinct pattern of 'bi bi- bee bibi'.

Within minutes Sandrock appeared and trod over to them, eagerly rubbing her nose against the back of her owner. Quatre returned the gesture with an affectionate hug. This white mare was his only friend now, he thought, as he felt around her tail. He sighed in relief inwardly as he retrieved the ring that was still tied to the white tail. If he had brought it with him it would have been taken by the slave traders.

Trowa did not trust him enough to let him ride alone, lest the blonde took off on his white mare once he had the chance. They ended up riding Heavyarms together with Quatre in front. Sandrock followed the pair without prompting.


	3. Chapter 3

The sight of Trowa with a new slave attracted many stares from curious chambermaids and guards, as the pair strolled down a corridor within the Barton mansion. Quatre, while definitely not new to grand furnishings, was still taken aback by the style and culture of the Barton household, which markedly differ from his own. The building had a marked emphasis on height, and it looked slim from the outside as the main body is taller than its wide. The gables are steep, and the windows tall and narrow. Inside, the tall ceiling was awe-inspiring. The pointed arches commanded one to look upwards with a certain respect.

Even the maids and guards wear elaborated dark clothes like their masters. The chambermaids had a layered dark brown dress trimmed with shirred white lace, and the attached white apron had matching white lace fringes on the hem. Compared to them The Winner maids wore simple dresses that were less decorative and more functional. In the deserts the buildings were stubbly, not tall and slim like this.

And less expensive too - Quatre mentally noted. Tax must be high in the Barton's lands.

He tried to make a mental plan of the building as the Barton heir led him to their unknown destination. However, as they weaved through the maze of rooms, numerous twists this way and abrupt turns that way made him lost track.

At length they stopped in front of an arched door. Trowa pushed it open with both hands to reveal a stunning bath area that was too grand to be used by slaves. (Should he be flattered by this?) Detailed sculptures surrounded the bath basin - both made of white marble. A series of marble lion heads line the wall to the far side, and water streams flowed from their open mouths into the bath pool.

"Strip."

Okaaay. Now that was straight and to the point. Quatre had expected something like this right from the beginning, but that did not mean he wasn't reluctant. Moreover, his family ring was still hidden in his clothes...now where could you hide something as conspicuous as the MISSING Winner ring when you strip?

"Be quick. Or do you want me to do it for you?"

No choice there - unless he wanted to declare a frightful disease that was contagious by touch. Now that would really serve his purpose to try and stay in this household long enough to meet Relena, wouldn't it.

The blonde boy sighed inwardly in resignation and started to slowly pull his tattered tunic off his head. The slowness could be masked by bashfulness, while in fact he was slipping the ring into his palm to hold it in his fist. His cheeks flushed hot as he took off his underpants, then became downright crimson when he found his audience staring. Nobody had seen him naked since he was seven.

Surprisingly, Lord Trowa Barton was not faring too well himself, as this was the first time he had seen someone of similar age naked before him. He took a deep breath and obliged himself to look his slave straight in the eyes despite his instinct to turn away, all the while wondering how the hell he got into such an embarrassing situation. Gods, he must have sounded like a perverted old man when he told the blonde to strip.

He had never wanted a slave in the first place - he knew what it was like to be ordered around like an animal - and those with that understanding would never willingly do unto others that same cruel fate. But his father had insisted in the necessity for him to learn how to speak the speak and walk the walk as the heir of Barton. What easier way was there to pick up pomposity than to be a Master of a fellow human being? Due to certain circumstances that led him where he now was, Trowa was in no position to disobey Duke Dekim.

Therefore the brunette forced himself to do as his father had instructed and put on a solemn face. He scrutinized the nude boy from head to toe, hoping that he would not blush and betray his true emotions. Truth to be told, his brain was too short-circuited to really see the boy in front of him.

"Sit on the ledge in the bath." It took great effort to keep a callous voice, and the fact that Trowa was normally a stoic person helped.

Quatre did as he was told and meekly sat on the underwater ledge cut into the side of the pool. The water reached his shoulders. It was comfortable warm and smelled of jasmine - he closed his eyes and let out a small sigh of content.

/I will never take anything for granted again./

He was so at ease that he yelped in surprise when he felt big hands on his scalp suddenly. His new master was lathering his hair from the edge of the pool. Quatre could feel himself turning scarlet once more.

"I..I..Your Highness! Please, shouldn't I be doing this myself?"

Trowa had to smile at the frantic cries of his slave. He knew he was lowering himself in washing his slave personally. (There would be hell to catch if his father found out he brought a slave into the family bath... so much for trying to acquire the dignified disposition of a Duke.) But this boy reminded him of a scared kitten, and Trowa always tended to cats personally because he could not trust others with them.

"Hush... just relax." Gone was the callous voice, for now he was almost cooing to sooth his nervous charge.

Silence fell over the two, and for a while only the sound of water echoed through the room. Trowa cupped a handful of water to wash away the foam on Quatre's head.

"How do you know to call me 'Your Highness?' I may not be a nobility." Trowa asked as he slid his hands down to wash the blonde boy's back. It was smooth and soft to touch. The slave traders had taken care not to scar their goods during their whipping.

Quatre blenched at the question. He mentally kicked himself for the slip-up. A common slave should be ignorant of everything!

"Relax...I didn't mean to startle you. I'm not trying to do anything - just helping to wash your back."

"I... I'm sorry! Did I call you by the wrong title? I heard the traders call you that..."

"No. You're right. Call me master from now on though."

"Yes, master."

Said master frowned but said nothing at the submissiveness of his slave. Strange that the traders had said that this was a violent and disobedient specimen - he sure didn't act like one.

Trowa then left Quatre to clean himself while he went to get a set of acceptable clothes for the boy. He came back just when Quatre was drying up with a towel.

"Here, put these on... What are you holding in your hand?"

To Quatre's credit he immediately let go of the ring together with the towel, so they both fell to the floor. By an immense stroke of luck the towel managed to conceal the ring. He decided that he would officially go insane with one more shock like this. Curse that stupid ring and that overly observant master of his!

"Not...Nothing! I just tend to hold a fist when I am nervous...I won't do it again!" It was the scared, helpless, unsure of himself kitty act again. It was getting old, yet every time it still managed to throw Trowa into a panic to reassure him.

Trowa handed the clothes to the blonde and watched him dress. It was easy to look sexy when one undressed. The brunette noticed that the boy was one of those rare people who could look sexy while putting clothes on.

Short sleeved white shirt, black shorts with black suspenders, black knee-high combat boots with straps - Quatre looked younger than he was in shorts. The pale skin that showed through between the shorts and the boots stood out against the black. Trowa soon found that staring could be a potential health hazard that caused nosebleed.

"...ster?"

"..."

"Master, are you okay?"

"Yeah, of course." Except for his melting, buttery brain, Trowa was quite fine, really. "Follow me, and pick up the dirty towel on your way out."

The missing Winner heir picked up more than the towel and slipped the ring into the safety of his pocket. He desperately needed a more permanent hiding place for that.

* * *

It was already evening when Trowa brought his clean slave into his room. The first thing that Quatre noticed was there was only one bed. Then something moved under the blankets. A cat with a shimmering bluish-grey coat popped its head out from the sheets and looked at the newcomer with curious green eyes. 

According to Trowa the cat was a two-year old female named Heavyarms (Strange name for a cat. Quatre suspected that it was a devil-spawn with great destructive power.) The blonde reached out to stroke her back tentatively.

She meowed and sniffed the hand.

Meanwhile, the cat owner brought out a firebug from a caved wooden box on the table and locked it in a suspended cage. The room lit up from the greenish light source.

Quatre turned to look at his master expectantly.

"I am needed by my father and I won't be back until it is late into the night, so you need not wait for me. Play nice with Heavyarms, don't touch anything, and you may sleep on my bed."

Quatre nodded. Taking one last look at the pale boy, Trowa went out and locked the room from the outside.

Ten minutes later, the seemingly obedient slave was already running about touching everything, searching for a safe hiding place for the sole proof of his true identity. To his dismay, the room was spotlessly clean, meaning that whoever did the cleaning sure took the trouble to go through the even slightest crack or groove.

Could he feed the ring to the cat?

Quatre lifted the feline on to his lap and noticed the collar she was wearing was ringed with jewels of all kinds. Rubies, emeralds... even aquamarines. Now there couldn't be a more blatant but ingenious hiding place than that.

With that settled, Quatre started to push the long standing mirror (a necessity for all noblemen, Quatre knew the troubles of formal attire) in front of the door, so he could see how he would appear to Trowa when he got back.

Many hours later, Trowa, tied from all the reporting and explanation done to his father, wearily unlocked the door to his room. Dekim had been displeased that he had bought a male slave instead of a female, but opted to wait and observe. He did, however, reminded his son to treat his slave harshly. It should be viewed simply as a possession, no different than a shoe or a sword.

Instead of finding his slave snoring slightly in bed, Trowa walked right smack into what he would describe as the 'perfect personification of beauty and innocence'.

Quatre was hugging the cat in his arms, sitting with his knees bend and with legs on either side of him. The blanket was tangled around his right feet. Dim light from the firebug made his pallid skin appear translucent, and his soft blonde wisps of hair glowed from the reflected light. His clear blue eyes were moist. When the stunned master walked over to hug his slave, he found that he was trembling.

Trowa didn't even suspect that he had walked into a careful plan of manipulation instead of a 'perfect personification of beauty and innocence' he thought it was. The devilish blonde boy had adjusted the firebug cage dozen of times just to get the exact angle where the light would catch the moisture in his eyes, and his trembling was a result of remaining in the carefully schemed position for hours.

The brunette put his hand under Quatre's chin and tilted his head upwards. Turquoise eyes met his own emerald ones. Trowa didn't stand a chance. His body acted before his mind did, as he planted a light kiss on the blonde boy's forehead - all his father's words forgotten.

They fell asleep together, with Quatre curled up against Trowa's warm body. Heavyarms was furious that the stranger took her normal place.

* * *

AN:  
Emm.. Try to imagine the firebug as a large, flightless firefly. Heavyarms is supposed to be a Russian Blue, highly intelligent and curious of strangers. 

Warning: She rants now. Ignore her.

I'm slow. I know I'm slow. Gosh, and Trowa's OOC.

::bangs head on table::  
::moves from table to wall. Bangs head on wall.::

And I dumped my personal kink into it. Yup. That's gothic fashion and the infamous French Maid costume you see in there. And gothic architecture. I won't be surprised if Dekim Barton turns out to be a vampire with this sort of weird setting. ARRGGG!!! Quatre in shorts! I created Shorta! Quatre for my own personal enjoyment! ARGG. I'm guilty, I'm a shortacon! Now strike me, lightning bolt!

::thunder rolls. flash of light.::

lunarays is found twitching on the ground, wondering if 3x4 fluff will write itself if she types (insert 3x4 fluff here) and leaves it alone to incubate.


	4. Chapter 4

Sunlight peeked through the windows and rose steadily from the floor to blanket the two teenagers in bed. Feeling the warmth, the shorter boy stirred and blinked open his eyes - his blonde hair shining golden in the sun. His companion was still sleeping, and had an arm across the blonde. No wanting to wake his master, Quatre gazed silently at the peaceful expression of the sleeping boy.

Trowa was weird - Quatre had concluded after spending three days with the brunette. He was not weird as a person, but was terribly strange as an heir of nobility. For one, he seemed to have a lot of free time on his hands. He needed not attend lessons, go for meetings, draw up new laws or help out his father in ruling their land...nor was his presence requested for formal dinners, balls, parties or other social activities between the nobles. For that matter, Trowa seemed completely unprepared to rule. Or rather, Duke Dekim had cared less to prepare his son to rule in the future.

And while he was stoic and not exactly friendly, Trowa lacked the air of superiority that accompanied the ruling class. Even Quatre's father, who was known for his kindness and fairness, radiated something - something lordly, something of the overseer. On the other hand, Trowa had a wild, unrefined demeanour. Maybe Trowa was still too young act his status, but nevertheless, Quatre sensed that something didn't quite add up in the Barton's household.

Back when Quatre was still the Winner heir, he would never have allowed a slave to sleep together with him on the same bed unless it was a bed warmer. Sex however, was something that Quatre had always had a profound disinterest in. And judging by the three nights they had literally slept together, his new master was not interested in that either.

Trowa seemed only interested in making friends with him. Not that it did not feel nice - Quatre's only friend had been his childhood playmate Relena, and he had not seen her since they were seven. But it was weird. Royalties and nobles were doomed never to have true friends - you never know who was going to raid your house at night. Perhaps Trowa was just lonely and na�ve enough to believe in a slave.

Without warning, Trowa suddenly let out a yawn and interrupted Quatre's train of thought. The brunette opened his eyes and stared at the blonde in his arms. With his brilliant smile and golden hair, he looked ethereal enough to pass as an elf.

"G'd morning." Trowa slurred as his vocal cords struggled to wake up. "Will you like to visit my friends today?"

"Friends?!" Quatre failed to hide the surprise in his voice. Just moments ago he was contemplating how Trowa must be a lonely someone desperate for companionship.

"That's right. Go clean up. Meanwhile I'll ask someone to pack us lunch so we can eat outside."

"Outside?!"

"Of course. And dress simple, we're going to the gardens. Any elaborate clothes will be ruined by the bushes...and more."

At the word 'gardens', Quatre finally remembered that 'outside' no longer referred to the deserts surrounding his city.

* * *

They could not have picked a better day for a picnic. The sky was pastel blue with occasional clouds that cast small shadows on the ground. The late autumn sun had lost most of its intensity but the day was still warm and dry - they were in the South after all. It only snowed in the far North at the lands of the Long clan. In the South, winters signified the arrival of water-giving monsoons.

Trowa started down a paved road that led them to the back of the mansion. Quatre had never seen so many plants in his life as the buildings gradually gave way to what seemed like an open savannah. Everywhere except the paved path was carpeted with well trimmed yellowish-green grass. Acacia, planted at regular intervals, lined the pathway on both sides - their leaves silvery white in the sunlight. White marble sculptures of the Gods dotted the grass field, each surrounded by thorny shrubs.

"Quatre!"

The startled blonde found that he had stopped to admire the scenery before him. Trowa had strayed into the grass and stood about a hundred meters away, calling and beckoning him to catch up. Quatre hurried forward with the picnic basket in his arm.

He was slightly out of breath when he reached Trowa. A sculpture of Mai the observer of fates stood beside them, holding a string of planets and stars in her bound hands. Her eyes were always sad, as she could only watch but not change fates determined by the stars.

They both sat down and started to unpack the basket. Trowa handed Quatre a sandwich and proceed to grab one himself. Quatre stared at the ground while they ate quietly.

It was Trowa who broke the awkward silence.

"The garden will be breathtaking after the rains. Bright yellow flowers will hang from the acacia, the grass will be green, and the shrubs around the sculptures will be dotted with flowers of all colours. See that field to the right? It will be a field of indigo when the desert sage blossoms."

Quatre looked up at his master.

"Will you like to see that?"

"Yes please! Master!" While the eagerness was exaggerated, Quatre genuinely wished to see the breathtaking garden as described by his companion.

"If you prove yourself worthy of my trust, I may even let you ride your horse in the gardens."

"Oh, I would like that very much, master!"

The Barton heir frowned inwardly at his slave's behavior, but said nothing and finished his sandwich. He then reached for the basket and pulled out a huge box from a separate compartment. He removed the lid and set it on the ground. Quatre took a peek and saw that it contained a mixture of uncooked minced meat and cut up entrails.

Yuck.

It was barely five minutes when a sandy yellow cat with broad face and large ears approached and began to feast on the raw food. A second cat appeared shortly after, and while similar to the first, it had faint black strips on its body. Another two cats joined in the meal a while later. Their heads were rounder and had yellow-gray fur with black-stripes only on the tail. Trowa moved in to scratch one between its ears.

Quatre followed his example enthusiastically. He had always liked animals...though he preferred dogs.

"There are a dozen more, but they are only active during the night. These are Colt, Walther, Eagle and Magnum," Trowa pointed at each cat in turn and introduced them. Quatre giggled when Eagle started to swat at his bangs. Colt flipped over and allowed Trowa to stroke its full belly.

They proceeded to play with the energetic cats, dangling various bits of grass in front of the felines. They pounced, meowed, jumped, swatted, growled and clawed. Quatre laughed while Trowa smiled. It was almost an hour before the cats got bored and went off in different directions.

"How do you like my friends?" The tall brunette asked after watching the cats leave.

"They are very cute, but too temperamental. They don't realize it's you who own them, not the other way round, master."

"Ah Quatre, that's where you are wrong." Trowa reached out and pulled the smaller boy on to his lap and wrapped his arms around the thin waist. "For there's no such thing as a cat owner."

The blonde slave raised his head to look at his master questioningly.

"Cats can never be truly domesticated - they have their own hidden agenda. However, they are fiercely loyal once they become fond of you and realize that they own you."

Quatre shifted uncomfortably and refrained from commenting.

"Come," Trowa pushed Quatre on his feet and stood up himself. "There is one more friend that I want you to meet."

He then grabbed Quatre by the hand and led him into a bushy area still farther from the pathway. They followed a sandy trail into an area with more trees, though their canopies do not meet like a in forest. Any branches that might obscure the trail had been trimmed to avoid scratching and ensnarling the users of the walking trail.

They reached a clearing with a circular, crater-like cavity in the middle, five meters deep and surrounded by steep rocks. There was a stairway reaching down to the only opening of the crater - but while it was not blocked by rocks, a huge thick metal door stood at the base of the stairs. Trowa pulled out a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. He then pushed the heavy door open by throwing his own weight on it. Quatre had expected the door to creak ominously, but it didn't.

Yet it was still frightening as hell to imagine what was on the other side of that locked door that needed to be locked up in such a big area.

"Emm...master? Can I just...can I just stay outside?"

Trowa pulled his slave in through the door and locked it shut behind them. Had he imagined it, or had Quatre really seen that evil gleam that flashed in that one visible emerald green eye?

The slave scanned his surroundings frantically to gauge what he was about to face. Grasses taller than a meter covered the crater ground. There was a large baobab tree almost three meter wide to the left. Most importantly, the smell of blood was thick in the air - definitely not a good sign.

"GRWARRR!"

A fearful roar reverberated through the crater. Quatre's body tensed at the noise. There was a rustling of grass that came from the right that sounded way too close for comfort. Quatre whipped his head towards the sound and alternated his stare between the wall of grass he saw and his master standing at the door.

/_It had to be safe, since he's inside with me._/

Without warning, a flash of yellow pounced on him and he was lying flat on his back with the wind knocked out of him. Something. Really. Heavy. was pinning him down at the shoulders. He cracked open his eyes and screamed at the sight.

A full grown lion with dark matted mane was staring down at him with yellow eyes. Quatre panicked. With his heart beating so fast that it felt like bursting, he started to thrash about without thinking.

"HELP ME! GET OFF! HELP! TROWA, IT'S GOING TO EAT ME!"

His eyes caught the brunette's face for a moment. Trowa was wearing an unmistakable grin as he looked down at him with mirth in his eyes. He was enjoying it. That cruel bastard was thoroughly amused to see him struggling under a man-eating lion. Who would have guessed that the seemingly kind boy had such a gruesome fetish?

/_I'm going to die. Gods. Not like this. I don't want to be torn apart limb by limb and consumed by a lion._/

The lion lowered its head. He could feel its hot breath on his neck. Quatre clenched his eyes shut and waited for the inevitable.

/_Oh no no no nonono. Lady Mai, is this the fate you foresee I have_? _No wonder he told me to dress simple, he didn't want the lion to ruin his good clothes._/

The lion opened its mouth and...

Licked his face.

/_Wait. It licked my face? _/

The lion licked him again. This time, Quatre chanced his luck and opened his eyes. Trowa was doing something to the lion, but he could not see what eaxctly...

Then the weight of the lion was lifted off him. Quatre frantically sat up, trying to still his panting from the near death experience. He could now see that Trowa was scratching the lion's chin lovingly and that beast actually _purred_.

Trowa turned to look at his terrified slave. At the sight of the disheveled blonde, he laughed out loud. Quatre snapped and forgot that he was supposed to be a meek helpless kitten.

"Fuck! Fuck you, Trowa Barton! You actually find it funny?! I was under a damn lion and you are laughing?" he bellowed, trying to stand but fell back again due to his still shaky legs.

At the outburst Trowa laughed even louder, though he did walked over and pulled Quatre on his feet and let the blonde lean on him while he steadied his legs. Quatre glared at him belligerently.

Not the least disturbed by the death-glare, Trowa patted the lion on the head with his free hand.

"This is Gatling, I reared him since he was a cub. He would never attack you because you had my scent on you, since you have been sharing my bed for three days now. I delayed this introduction because I wanted to see how you'll react. Sorry, but it's good to know that you do get angry."

Quatre's death-glare hastily melted away into embarrassment. Noticing the change, Trowa held the blonde boy closer in a tight embrace.

"You don't have to fake politeness or submissiveness in front of me. Really, the tone you use sometimes is more sickening than sweet. I don't care what you are thinking or what you are trying to achieve. I'm going to keep you anyway because I like you."

Stunned by how observant his master was and his sudden confession, Quatre stood paralyzed for a moment before pushing Trowa away - his heart still beating wildly at the adrenaline. When he calmed down enough to see the honesty in the depths of the emerald eye, Quatre lunged forward and kissed the brunette fiercely on the lips - all the while wondering how much of the kiss was true, and how much of it was manipulation.

For the first time since his parents were killed, he hated himself more than he hated the world.

* * *

A/N:

The acacia mentioned is Silver Wattle, commonly ground for ornamental purposes. Acacia is well adapted to dry conditions. Trowa is finally back to his wickedly cool self in this chapter, and yes, all his cats are named after pistons and the lion after the Gatling gun. (Hail to Heavyarms!) But no, there are no firearms in this universe.

The first two cats are sand cats, while the pair that arrived later is a pair of desert wildcats cats. The savanna is the natural habitat of desert cats, while sand cats live in even more arid areas such as the desert.

Thank you for all your kind reviews! They are my greatest motivation to continue!

KaL KeY - I'm glad that you like the outfits! It's good to know that people don't find it stupid.

BigSister2 - I love you! Here's the more you're waiting for, and more Trowa Quatre interaction!

Amber Dreams - Yup, of course he is. But he may very well be manipulating himself as well.

Markanovanlink - (glomps) Thank you for reading so many of my fics, I love you! Yes, this story is going to involve Quatre as an always scheming, resourceful little bastard...but that's why we love him.

NatsumiNeko - lol I love your review, it's straight and to the point... SHOTACON!

phoenixfirekitsune - Trowa's not stupid, but Quatre is more evil. Now we should all worry about what will happen to Trowa.

jess-eklom - When Trowa finds out it'll be an angst and anger-fest! So they should enjoy what they have now before the cat gets out of the bag. (evil grin)

rowen raven - (teary eyed) You're willing to take the lightning bolts for me? (cries) Waahhhh! Just for this, I'm going to write and write and write. Who cares if quirks and guilt of this evil plot crush me in the end! I'll continue to write for you!


	5. Chapter 5

The monsoons arrived suddenly and without warning as November came. Thunderstorms raged almost every day, bringing a year's worth of life-sustaining water to the parched savannas. This was an idle time for the people in Dekim's lands - seeds had been sowed, and most were inevitably trapped indoors by the constant rains.

For the umpteenth time of the week, Quatre sat curled up in bed, leaning on his master, who had his arms draped over Quatre's shoulders from behind. Both of them watched the rain through their bedroom window in silence, listening to the pitter-patter outside, accompanied by frequent flashes of lightning and loud rumbles of thunder.

Since the kiss they shared almost two weeks ago, Quatre's relationship with his master had subtlety changed. For one, he now addressed his master simply as 'Trowa' in private - and there were those little gestures Trowa would made with his usual impassive face - fingering Quatre's blonde fringe absently, covering the slave's smaller hand with his own when they sat together doing nothing, deliberately looking away when the blonde smiled at him...Quatre noticed all those little unimportant gestures that signified some change that no one could point a finger to.

The idle days passed peacefully, and sometimes, Quatre thought it would be actually be quite nice if days like these could continue forever - his time spent cuddling with Trowa in comfortable silence without a care in the world. All he had to do was to clean up after the brunette and to carry out his petty orders which were more symbolic than practical anyway. It was a luxurious life compared to the harsh workload of the Winner heir...

But whenever his train of thought turned that way he would be jolted out of his contentment. Cold fire burned in his chest and spread through his arms to his fingers when Treize Khushrenada's face surfaced in his mind.

Noticing the sudden tension of the slight body in his arms, Trowa hugged his slave close to his chest and looked down at Quatre's aquamarine eyes questioningly. The blonde shook his head dismissively and smiled.

The moment was interrupted by three sharp knocks on the door. Quatre scampered down the bed to sit on the floor while the Barton heir went to open the door grumpily. The man that stood outside wore a smart black uniform with golden epaulette that told of his status as one of the personal guards under the direct orders of Duke Dekim. Trowa straightened his posture at the sight of him.

"Young Master, his highness the Duke wishes for you to have an audience with him." The guard spoke in a business-like monotone, glancing at the slave who was sitting in the proper seiza position and staring down obediently.

Trowa nodded crisply and hurried down the corridor, with the guard following closely behind.

Once they were gone, Quatre raised an eyebrow at the shut door, wondering what that was about.

* * *

Three hours later, Trowa had smuggled his slave into the banquet hall of the Barton household because he 1) enjoyed the company 2) didn't want the blonde to be cooped up in the bedroom for the entire day and 3) it took two to practise ballroom dancing. 

"So, your father is going to hold the usual monsoon ball this December?" Quatre asked in his best affectation of a nonchalant voice from the windowsill, his feet dangling well above the floor.

Trowa nodded from the piano seat, his face slightly flushed from the intense two-hour dance lesson he had had. That demon of a teacher had just left.

"And this is the first time you're required to attend, because the Peacecraft Princess is actually coming this time?" Quatre continued while staring at the rain outside, afraid that the light of excitement would show in his eyes. Relena would be here! Relena would be HERE!

"That's why I need you for dance practice. Now you just give me five more minutes and I can teach you what I just learnt..."

The blonde jumped down from the windowsill and landed with feline grace on his crouched legs. Despite living with him for so long, Trowa still found it fascinating that the very movements of his slave could be so beautiful.

"I can teach you." Quatre held out his hand in front of Trowa in the typical may-I fashion.

"What?" The brunette raised his one visible eyebrow suspiciously. This one slave never failed to surprise.

"Tango Vals isn't it? Have you learnt the walking and the three steps?"

Trowa nodded slowly, then turned away and mumbled something that sounded like "...sort of..."

Quatre urged him up into the dance position, with their outstretched hands joined and the other arm around each other's backs. They formed an open embrace like a relaxed hug, maintaining complete contact only along the side of their embracing arms.

Quatre took the lead with the basic steps and counted the three beats aloud. Once satisfied that Trowa was indeed familiar with the circular Vals steps, he switched to the small steps of Tango walk. Trowa tripped, but the hand on his back tightened and prevented him from falling. Their chests touched as they stopped.

"You lead." The blonde said simply, and switched their embracing hands to take on the feminine position.

With renewed enthusiasm, Trowa began the Tango walk, stepping only on the first beat. When he felt confident enough he switched back to the circular Vals steps, not entirely surprised to find his partner following without missing a beat. They twirled around the floor in the counter-clockwise direction, incorporating a few taps of Tango now and then.

Quatre abruptly took the lead and performed a Parada, halting the movement of Trowa by blocking him with his feet. Trowa stayed still while the blonde did a Gancho and hooked his leg around Trowa's thigh. The brunette shivered involuntarily at the sight of his partner's seductive smile.

"All you need to dance well, is a partner who can dance well. And fortunately for you, princesses are among the best dancers in the world. Try bending one of your knees and leave the showing off to your partner." Quatre instructed with a cheeky smirk.

Trowa did as he was told and Quatre waltzed to his right. He twirled his left leg in an elegant backward arch and hooked it around Trowa's bent leg, so that his thigh now rested on the brunette's.

"Hold me by the waist! Now stand up and twirl!" Barked the blonde.

Quatre bent his other leg in front of his partner's waist as he was lifted off the ground, and the pair turned, balance arms still holding hands and embracing arms wrapped around each other. Trowa instinctive bent his knees again as Quatre straightened his left leg to touch down.

In high spirits after completing a complicated move successfully, Trowa let his guard down and expected a pause. The former Winner heir however, was lost in his element and forgot that his partner was only a beginner. He continued the dance, only to trip on his partner unmoving leg.

Instinctively Trowa tried to halt the blonde boy's fall. In his haste, Trowa stumbled and tripped on his own leg. As a result, he fell flat on his back while Quatre toppled on top of him, with their hands still holding.

_Oh._ Trowa thought intelligently.

He struggled to get up from the embarrassing position, but his slave moved faster and sat firmly on his lower abdomen, with knees bend on either side of his body - effectively forcing him to stay still. Quatre then pinned his master's hand down on the floor and brought his face closer to Trowa's.

"Can you smuggle me into the ball?"

The blonde was wearing an uncharacteristically solemn expression.

Resisting the urge to throw the smaller boy off him by sheer force, Trowa narrowed his eyes as his brain cells came alive once more, finally choosing to answer the question with a question.

"Who exactly are you."

Okay, it came out sounding more like a statement than a question, and more threatening that he had meant to be... Trowa consoled himself by reminding himself that that was beside the point.

"How about you don't ask me if I don't ask you? A Barton heir who doesn't know how to dance is like a camel that doesn't drink at a waterhole."

"..."

"Can you smuggle me into the ball?" repeated Quatre - more firmly this time. "Even hiding me under the tables will be fine."

"Okay."

"I really need to...wait. What did you say?!"

"I said okay. Now can you let me up?"

Quatre recoiled slightly from the unexpected affirmative. It was then the blonde finally realized how compromising a position they were in...At once his heart started hammering against his ribcage. It was the adrenaline again, wasn't it?

But this was no near-death-experience with a lion like the last time.

Slowly, hesitatingly, Quatre leaned down once more - gradually closing the distance between their lips. Trowa's impatient free hand snaked up around his neck and pulled him through the remaining space.

There was something about this kiss that was different from the previous kiss. Something different...like the little differences in Trowa's gestures...like why his heart hammered even without the adrenaline. A difference that Quatre could not readily point his finger to.

Yet that difference made him reach out to unbutton the brunette's shirt. Trowa did not complain.

He had undone three buttons when the door slammed open and a resentful snarl echoed through the hall.

"Prince Milliardo had gone missing. The ball is cance...!!"

Duke Dekim's hoarse croak came to an abrupt stop at the sight of that lowly slave on top of his son, both looking disheveled and flushed. On seeing the Duke, Trowa pushed his slave off himself in panic, unknowingly revealing his unbuttoned shirt.

Dekim let out a roar of rage and dragged the blonde slave up by his collar. The next moment, his heavy punch had sent Quatre skidding across the smooth ballroom floor. Before the blonde could push himself up, Dekim kicked his stomach - hard - for added measure. Quatre clutched himself and hissed in pain.

"No! Stop that!" Trowa shouted, flinging himself between his father and his slave.

"You shall not forget your place, or your sister shall face the consequences! Didn't I teach you how to treat slaves? You don't let them crawl on top of you!" Duke Dekim bellowed.

The young Barton stood rooted to his place, torn between his desire to cradle his hurt friend and his duty to obey the Duke. Stealing glances at the blonde, Trowa's heart ached when he saw the rapidly forming bruise on his punched cheek.

Enduring the gradually subsiding pain in his abdomen, Quatre forced himself up into a kneeling position and wiped the blood from his split lip. How did things go so horribly wrong in five minutes? With Prince Milliardo missing, Trieze would be the next in line for the throne. Relena would not be coming now that the ball had been cancelled.

Worst of all, Duke Dekim had threatened Trowa with his sister - but Leia Barton had died five years ago.

That meant Trowa's sister was not part of the Barton family. Was Trowa an illegitimate child? No wonder Dekim did not train him as an heir. The only master in this house was Dekim and no one else. He had been pleasing the wrong person this whole time.

Problem was, said master seemed quite intent on murdering him in cold blood currently. Quatre winced inwardly when he gingerly touched his swollen cheek.

"Stand up, you slut! If you're no use as a slave, you'll fare better as a whipping boy!"

Looking at Trowa, Quatre saw that his usually expressionless face was marred by a tense frown of worry. Quatre flashed a reassuring smile towards his master. Well, at least Trowa would behave to avoid giving Dekim any excuse to flog him...Trowa cared after all.

* * *

A/N:

Seiza position is the formal sitting position for the Japanese, where one first kneels on the floor then rests his/her buttocks on the heels.

Tango Vals (a.k.a. Tango-Waltz) is a Tango in 3/4 time Waltz music instead of the traditional 4/4 time music. The dance incorporates both Waltz and Tango elements - it had an emphasis on the footwork but is continuous with lots of turns. Simply beautiful! (more personal fetishes inserted into fic . )

KaL KeY - Thank you I do hope my Trowa will be okay from now on...::sighs::

Jess-eklom - emm, instead of the fur, Quatre went flying in this chapter. ::sheepish grin::

BigSister2 - Thank you! sends more love It's always good to know what people like about my fic Trowa is of course one smart perceptive boy ::pats Trowa::

rowen raven - Trowa the wicked bastard? Nah, in this fic, lots of people are competing for that title of honour. XDD Thank you for telling me that you like the description of the garden...I have always found it difficult to write detailed descriptions.

phoenixfirekitsune - I love to see Quatre losing it and rage too.D His tight control over himself is so frustrating to watch sometimes. Yeah for Gatling the lion!

ChilledFlame - Thank you for reading despite having lost faith in the slave-fic genre. I'm so glad that you like my fic because...I'm a fan of your Snake Venom ::waves flag::

Dentelle-noir - I'm enjoying this fic too. Dear me, I'm afraid that you do exist as a cat-servant instead of a cat owner. XD

NatsumiNeko - YES for Quatre's outbursts! Come on, Quatre, you know you wanna lose it! Anyway...their relationship is finally progressing in this chapter, cheerios!

Markanovanlink - As I quote, "One can't die in the middle of Act 5", I can't kill Quatre off so soon, don't worry. D Thank you for loving both me and my fic ::glomps::


	6. Chapter 6

Trowa was a calm, collected and logical person. He thought before he acted - it had always been the case.

So why, when he saw his father grabbing his slave - the blonde he had grown to like in the past few weeks - when Dekim yanked Quatre by the arm towards the door, why had he acted without thinking? Why had his hand flown up instinctively to grab Quatre by his other arm, to stop Dekim from taking the boy away from him?

Dekim stopped short at the unexpected resistance, seething as he turned - his eyes wide and face twitching in a horrible mixture of shock and wrath. Trowa stared back calmly; face impassive but eyes firm. The message was clear enough - he won't be backing down this time.

It would have been a comical scene, if not for the taut tension in the air, to see the three of them maintaining that uncomfortable position motionlessly. A tiny, dysfunctional part of Quatre's brain commented gleefully that together, they would make a good addition to the statues in the gardens - now, maybe a sculpture entitled "Three Men in a Bout" ...Insert inward groan and a loud, silent desperate "Stop!" as Quatre pushed that voice away. Giggling happened to equate suicide in this particular context...and getting out of this situation alive is currently at the top on his priority list.

"...Master?" The blonde dared interrupting with a whisper.

No response. Quatre tried his long disused pitiful kitty eyes for added effect.

"Master? Please let me go."

Instead of letting go, Trowa tightened his hold on Quatre at the boy's plead. Noticing the brunette's action, Duke Dekim looked like he was going to either sprout steam from his ears or explode from the bottled up pressure of internal boiling tempers - not good.

Fortunately, (or unfortunately?) a guard chose to enter the room before the tug-o-war escalated into a more violent activity. Stunned for a moment at the weird sight before him, he quickly recomposed himself and announced in a clear, emotionless voice.

"Duke Khushrenada has arrived for a visit and wished for an audience with Your Highness, to discuss the disappearance of Prince Milliardo. He is waiting in the lounge."

The lowly slave instantly forgotten, Dekim promptly detached himself from the fray - dazed momentarily - then hastily straightened his clothes. The power in the kingdom was about to shift, he had no time to waste in disciplining disobedient useless pawns. Trieze had come to ascertain his motives and to discuss their actions following the Prince's disappearance. But the fact that Trieze had marched into his territory without warning was an insult in itself, demonstrating his fearlessness of Dekim.

With his father distracted, Trowa took the opportunity to gather his slave into a gentle hug, tilting his head to examine his punched cheek. But Quatre did not even feel the affectionate touch.

In fact, Quatre had ceased to be aware of his surroundings since the phrase "Duke Khushrenada has arrived for a visit" hit him. It looped continuously in his mind - unearthing tons of buried hatred and fear within him with each silent repeat.

"Stay in your room! I'll deal with you later!" Dekim barked to his son even in his haste.

As the Duke turned to leave with the messenger, Quatre abruptly jerked away from his master's protective embrace and raced after the pair out of the ballroom, leaving a much confused Trowa behind. His slave, whom was usually soft and cuddly to hold, became rigid and angular at the mention of Duke Khushrenada.

* * *

Half an hour after Barton's arrival, Trieze walked out of the lounge. The meeting with Dekim...was not really uneventful, but nothing special happened either. Dekim was too predictable. The only thing he wanted with Treize was to want him dead. 

The consensus they reached was the thing they would do even without this meeting. They would both pretend to look for the prince while not doing anything at all. Even though they had different motives, it would be to their mutual benefit for the prince to stay missing.

Of course, Trieze had not just come to hold this redundant meeting. Unlike Dekim, he was least worried about the whereabouts of Milliardo.

A blonde head poked timidly out from behind a pillar six feet down the corridor. Aquarium eyes stared at him - but when Treize returned the gaze, the head quickly disappeared behind the pillar again.

A curious servant. This could be a suitable pawn for his plan. He marched up to the boy - but was taken aback by what he saw - blonde, soft hair...fair skin...piercing blue eyes. It was those eyes that pulled at him. He had seen them before - and he would never forget.

This boy had the accusing eyes of Lady Winner. There was a sudden pang in his heart as the guilt flooded in, reminding him of what he had done. Trieze had not regretted his actions, but that did not mean the guilt was not there.

"Who are you?" The Duke asked the blonde boy tenderly, afraid of scaring him.

"I'm...em...Master's slave."

_Hold it in. Hold it in. Don't let anything show. Hold it in, Quatre. You can't kill him now._

Quatre repressed the urge to strangle that man in front of him right there and then. For a brief moment he was so tempted to shout "I'm Quatre Rababer Winner! You bastard killed my family!" in answer to Trieze's question.

Quatre inhaled deeply. His held his fists so tightly that his fingernails dug into his palm.

"Poor boy." Unaware of the emotional struggle taking place inside the slave, Trieze caressed his bruised cheek. "Barton didn't even allow you a name? Such a beauty...If I were your master I would have freed you instantly."

Trieze's hand slid down his cheek to clench his chin, forcing Quatre to look up. Without warning he pressed his lips firmly down the slave's pink mouth, persistently prying with his tongue - pushing the boy against the pillar in the process.

Almost immediately the slave punched him - hard - in the side. Trieze let go instantly and retreated a few steps, allowing the boy some safety distance. Quatre was heaving heavily against the pillar, arms wrapped around himself protectively. He glowered at the Duke, prepared for another assault.

To Quatre's astonishment, Trieze bowed to him.

"I offer you my sincerest apology. That was impudent and uncalled for."

_Hold it in hold it in hold it in. Act in character. Act in character. How would a slave feel after punching a Duke? _

The burning fury of the slave melted into blind panic. Quatre anxiously helped the Duke back into an upright position before falling on his knees and babbled apologies.

"I'm sorry, your Highness! Please, please, please don't tell my master what happened! He would kill me. He would kill me for kissing someone other than him! Gods! Forgive me, your Highness!...please, please, please..."

He was clutching at Trieze's trousers, wailing for all he was worth. He surprised himself when the tears flowed so readily from his eyes.

He was kneeling in front of the man who killed his parents. He was begging the man who destroyed his life. Quatre never knew that surviving could hurt so much - he had given up the last thing that had supported him through the ordeal so far - he had abandoned his pride as Quatre Rababer Winner.

His father died fighting. He should have fallen by his side that night... not living like this - as a dog, or perhaps worse than a dog. Even dogs fought to death beside their masters.

Trieze squatted down so that he was level to the distressed slave and coaxed him into silent sobbing. Reaching into his chest pocket, he pulled out a pendent and pushed it into the slave's hands.

"Shh...Take this. Sell it in the market place and buy yourself some fancy toys. I can't take you away now when your master is still here. But if anything happens, you are always welcomed at my place. Understand?"

Quatre nodded silently and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

"I have to go. Farewell, my dear boy."

The blonde followed the Duke with his eyes until he was out of sight. Clutching at his heart for a moment, Quatre ran blindly back towards Trowa's room.

It was over. Trieze had gone; he did not have to carry on the crying act anymore.

But he could not stop the tears.

He could not stop even when he knocked despairingly at Trowa's door. He could not stop even when a shocked Trowa opened the door and saw what a wreck he was. The residue of Trieze's kiss was still vivid on his lips.

He felt nauseous. A bitter-sour taste welled up in his mouth, and he was suddenly violently sick, emptying his lunch all over the polished marble floor.

He was only dimly aware when Trowa pulled him away from the mess. Feeling the warmth of a body, Quatre could not hold it in any more. He clung on to the brunette like a lifeline and howled his agony - feebly hitting his master at times, tightly clutching his shirt at others.

It broke Trowa's heart.

He hurriedly ushered the distrait blonde to the baths, instructing a servant to clean the mess in his room along the way.

Once in the baths, Quatre almost ripped his clothes in his urgency to undress. Trowa stood at the side of the pool, silently watching as his slave scrubbed himself raw with the roughest washcloth, still hiccupping now and then from crying too much.

When Trowa could not bear to watch the masochistic action of his slave anymore, he reached out and firmly took the washcloth from Quatre's hand. The blonde, broken out of his reverie, looked like a lost child. Trowa hauled his slave out of the water and wiped him dry with a soft towel. Quatre had stopped crying finally, his eyes puffy red.

Cradling him in his arms, Trowa continued their interrupted kiss in the ballroom. Quatre responded fervently, almost desperately, as Trowa's tongue slid into his mouth and chased away everything that Trieze left behind.

When they finally pulled away, Trowa took a long look at the boy in his arms, and realized that he had never really seen him as a slave. He wanted more than anything to comfort him, to protect him from whatever that had hurt him so badly. He wanted to tell him not to fear, not to worry, for he was here to take his pain.

But Trowa was never one who made empty promises.

"I love you."

Quatre cried anew.

* * *

A/N: 

Sorry Quatre. I didn't mean to be so mean to you. But I am the Author God! Muahahahaha!

Grr. I'm frustrated by my slower than slow writing speed. I should have updated sooner, but I just started university (college) life and currently am quite the overwhelmed freshman. Bah. Whoever said university is easier than high school is a liar.

Thank you my dear reviewers!

KaL KeY - It's good to know that you like my Trowa. He really deserves more screen time, but I am one biased author. Ha!

phoenixfirekitsune - Things didn't exactly go well in this chapter either...but at least T and Q got their moment. I hope you're satisfied. )

rowen raven - I love (to watch) Tango too //sighs dreamily// Well, I think Quatre is currently debating over whether he like Trowa or not... I'm not sure too, they all seem to run away from my initial story plan...

NatsumiNeko - more Quatre whumping! And Trowa comforting! in this chapter! Yay!

Markanovanlink - ah...the twist was there to make Quatre's life more difficult. I like to show my love for a character by hurting him. XD


	7. Chapter 7

The mahogany table was meticulously clean, and the red velvet curtains drawn. The firelight from the silver candle-stand brings a cozy warmth into the grand dining room. It was another typical evening for Trieze Khushrenada, sitting at the end of the long dining table with Mariemaia on his right, waiting patiently for dinner to be brought in at seven hours sharp.

The seventh hourglass ran out of sand. As if on cue, the maid-servant marched smartly into the dinning room, carrying the dishes of cold appetizer into the room. Treize let out a dashing smile at the maid when she set down the dishes. She returned the smile somewhat timidly, but he grabbed her hand as she turned to go. Stunned, she tried to withdraw her hand, but found that the master's grip was unreasonably firm.

With his smile unwavering, Trieze, as if he was asking something as mundane as the time, questioned the maid in a conversational tone.

"Unlike other nobility who don't bother to know their staff, I know very well that it should be Jane serving dinner today. So my charming lady, do you mind telling me who are you and what are you going to do?"

Her reflexes were lightning-quick. Dropping all forms of pretense immediately, the maid used her free hand to draw a dagger hidden under her apron and raised it to stab the man before her. But before she could bring down the weapon, a strong hand seized her wrist from behind, squeezing her with a bruising strength that caused her to let go of the dagger. The blade dropped on the floor with a resounding clang.

Twisting and struggling against her captors, the maid turned and saw that it was a masked man who had caught her hand from behind. She started to kick at everything within her reach in blind panic, knowing that an assassin caught alive was usually subjected to a fate far worse than death, especially when she could not afford to reveal her patron even under torture...

"Don't worry."

The soft girlish voice cut through her efforts, and she momentarily stopped to look at the young redhead sitting calmly at the table, her feet dangling a good six feet above the floor. Mariemaia was covering her eyes with her hands in a childlike way.

"My father doesn't need you alive."

Then everything went black as the masked man cut her throat. Her body slid quietly down the floor, with her blood gradually pooling on the floor.

Lifting Mariemaia in his arms, Trieze proceeded to put his trembling daughter to bed early.

* * *

"Thank you, Zechs." 

Receiving his steaming mug of rose tea from the masked man with flowing long blonde hair, Trieze sank into his armchair and let out a heavy sigh, before motioning to Zechs for him to sit down too.

Barton had sent his assassin - that was too predictable. Now all he had to do was to announce the attempt on his life and how his royal token had gone missing after the incident. The rest of his plan would play itself out. It was only a matter of time before the blonde slave sold the jewel he gave him.

And it was no ordinary jewel, of course. It was a seed of destruction - the beginning of the downfall of the Barton family. The pendent that he gave that slave bore the Khushrenada crest - it was the royal token given to the Khushrenada name - the proof of the ownership of their fiefdom. It was not something that could be sold unnoticed in the marketplace.

If a slave from the Barton household tried to sell the Khushrenada pendent after a mysterious failed attempt on Duke Trieze's life... The implications were many. A confession from the assassin was not needed to convict Barton of his crimes.

Trieze's only regret was that it was that particular slave he had to use. The boy looked exactly like Lady Winner - with those accusing eyes that haunted him in his dreams.

Before he could let out another sigh, the masked man took his cup of hot tea from his hand and leaned in for a kiss. Trieze closed his eyes and let it wash through him, allowing himself to temporarily forget all the demons in his head.

* * *

Noticing the look of unease on Quatre's face, Trowa forced himself to stop leaning forward and sat straightened beside the blonde, contended with only wrapping his arm around Quatre's waist. Quatre had become much more passive and quiet since Trowa's confession. Perhaps it was because Quatre no longer had any reason to please him now that he knew he was not the real master of the Barton family? Yet Trowa was glad for the change. He had the feeling that he was getting closer and closer to the real Quatre. 

"Sorry."

A pause. Trowa waited patiently for elaboration.

"I'm really sorry for dragging you into this."

Quatre looked straight at Trowa with sad blue eyes that were not entirely apologetic, but rather reflecting regret. The blonde's fa硤e had fallen completely, but there was no warmth and love beneath the surface - a sudden aloofness, a hard determination, was revealed. Trowa surprised himself when he found that he could not care less. If he could not make Quatre trust him, at least he could show that he trusted Quatre.

Flopping unceremoniously down so that he was lying perpendicular to the side of his bed with his legs dangling down the side, Trowa smiled at the serious expression on Quatre's face. The blonde opted not to follow his example and remained sitting on the edge of the bed, absentmindedly stroking Heavyarms who was curled on his lap. He did turn to face the brunette though. Trowa closed his eyes and quite out of the blue, began a monologue.

"It"s properly common knowledge that Dekim Barton had two children. Leia Barton married Trieze Khushrenada fourteen years ago and died nine years later, leaving behind a daughter named Mariemaia for the Duke. Trowa Barton on the other hand, was much younger than Leia."

Cracking open his eyes, Trowa saw that he had caught Quatre's interest, as the blonde looked attentively at him and waited patiently for him to continue. Letting another half-smile grace his lips, Trowa closed his eyes and resumed his narration.

"But Trowa Barton cannot be as young as me. He should be well in his late twenties."

Quatre promptly smacked himself soundly on his forehead at the statement, mentally berating himself for not noticing something as obvious as that sooner. Annoyed by the movement, Heayarms got up and stretched with a loud yawn before jumping down on the floor and wandered off. Not-Trowa smiled smugly but otherwise ignored the strange smacking sound, and continued with his eyes still closed.

"My real name was Trition Bloom. I lived with my sister in the circus. You could say that we are children of the circus, for we never knew our parents but we found our family with the traveling troop. Perhaps you have even seen me before we met. We have performed all over Sank."

_Of course not. I was not allowed out of the house, let alone going to a circus._

Oblivious to Quatre's mental reply, Trowa drone on in a near dream-like voice, monotonous but nonetheless still captivating due to the enigma of the story.

"It was just mere coincidence that I was standing there when I saw the real Trowa Barton being shot by a stray arrow. I was feeding the lions, minding my own business...and suddenly 'phew' then 'thud'. This boy had fallen right next to the lion cage, with an end of an iron arrow sticking out from his chest. Duke Dekim, flanked by his guards, was running at us. Trowa Barton might have sneaked away from his body guards to see the lions after the show... after all, a teenage nobleman is still a curious teenager above anything else... but to assassins and their patrons, a teenage nobleman is still a target and potential court rival not matter the age."

_I had always thought that my father was paranoid in not letting me out of the house. Now here is the living...I mean dead proof that my father was right, shoved right up my nose. Ha. My father was wiser than that Dekim fool. But at least __Trowa got to see the circus..._

"Being the sole witness of the incident that was not from the Duke's household..."

"I can figure out the rest. Dekim was an old spinster who is unlikely to produce another child. Losing his sole heir will cause unrest and enmity among the nobles under him to compete for his position after his death, and this will weaken his power and invite attacks from other feudal lords. By purchasing you as a substitute however, he can stop you from leaking out the news of his son's death, and get a marionette to play the role of his heir..."

Quatre left the sentence hanging and sighed. Not entirely surprised that the blonde pieced the rest of the puzzle with ease, Trowa gently pulled at Quatre's arm until he gave up and lay down beside the brunette. Quatre sighed again.

"You should not love me. You should not trust me enough to tell me all this. You don't even know who I am."

The barton heir pushed himself up and flipped over - lying belly down and resting on his elbows. He proceeded to curl the soft blonde locks on Quatre's forehead around his index finger, until the blonde got irritated by this display of tenderness.

"Didn't you hear what I said? I may be dangerous!You should not love a stranger like me!"

"But you are not a stranger." Trowa deadpanned. "You are Quatre. You are from the Winner lands because you used the analogy 'like a camel that doesn't drink at the waterhole' to describe me who doesn't know how to dance. You are well educated. You know the ballroom dance so well that you can do blindfolded, and you know the importance of an heir to a feudal lord. You are therefore nobility in the Winner lands. Probably quite close to the Winners too, if the Winner incident has forced you to flee to Barton's territory."

Quatre was dumbstruck. And there he thought he had been careful in hiding his identity but this meddling busybody here had got it figured all out in like...five seconds? If it wasn't a known fact that the Winners have no children, Trowa could have deduced his true identity, and said, in that endlessly annoying matter-of-fact manner of his: But you are no stranger. You are Quatre Winner.

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

_But Thank you for your foresight, father! _

"Don't worry, I won't tell father. He is too busy with the prince's disappearance to mind us too much anyway. But...can I ask of you something in return?"

Feeling quite defeated at the moment, Quatre looked meekly at the really-perceptive-not-heir person and nodded quite obediently. That brown-haired smartass dared to grin at the blonde's response, which immediately earned him a glare from those seething blue eyes.

"I don't know and don't really care what you have up your sleeve. But can you please leave Duke Dekim out of it? After all, he has been good to me and my circus family all this years..."

Quatre unconsciously reached for the piece of jewel that Treize had given him in his pocket. Quickly running the possibilities through his head, Quatre decided that, indeed, Dekim could be left out from his plans. His only target was Treize.

"For all that you have done for me and which none I truly deserve...this I can promise you, Triton Bloom. I will not harm Duke Dekim."

Heavyarms jumped on the bed and settled herself between the two humans. Yawning out of boredom, she could not understand how the two of them managed to talk for so long without sleeping or playing. It must suck to be human and without a tail - she thought, as the aquamarine ring shone brightly around her neck.

* * *

AN:

I know I am slow. I know. I should have updated sooner. Grr.

Anyway…

Sorry Quatre for making you look this uncool in this chapter…but you should allow Trowa to have his moment of triumph! Being Cool! Intelligent! Sexy! Ahh! Fangirl Scream!

So you see Quatre, it's really for your benefit.

Thank you all my dear reviewers!!

Scrtshdfgry - Thank you please enjoy the new chapter!

Mizuki hikari - indeed, TQ looks cute together.. :) but there will be more angst later...

Markanovanlink - Thank you for your continuous support! Ah...poor Q...but there's always Trowa to comfort him! Wee!

ChilledFlame - Thank you for telling me what you like about the story I like proactive Quatre too (that's why I'm writing this fic :P) but now, will Quatre chooses Trowa over his duty? That's the question. XD

Maskelle - Thank you for reading something that you are not familiar with. I don't read enough 1x2 too. bleah.

BigSister2 - sigh. School. I'm sooo slow. But I really appreciate your long review! I just love to torture Quatre (geez, I love to torture the characters I love) I got really worked up writing the Trieze/Quatre kiss, because it is really tough on Q... (even though 13x4 is one of my guilty pleasures) Thank you for reading!

Rowen raven - Quatre the Oscar Winner! (pun intended) And I share your sadist streak, heehee. Though Trieze has his own agenda and Quatre isn't as successful as he thought himself to be.

Gecko Osco - wee I've replied you in my letter, but that's so long ago and I still haven't gotten around to read more of your fics... I'm enjoying your little mermaid fic though! Thank you!

NatsumiNeko - hurt and comfort (sighs dreamily) Trowa almost figured out the true identity of Quatre in this chapter, smart boy. And Heavyarms gets a cameo appearance and a simple happy life! XD

Dentelle-noir - Thank you! This fic is not dead...it's just progressing really slowly due to this unfortunate condition called procrastination by the author. Aww. I suck.

Phoenixfirekitsune - Trieze is being somewhat nice to Quatre for his own agenda...aww...does that make him a jerk?

KaL KeY - ahh...why did Quatre cry again? I think it's more alongthe line of guilt...

Jess-eklom - Thank you! Yeah...Trowa should have let him run just like that...and as for Trieze and Dekim... well, it'll spoil the fun if I say anything. :)


	8. Chapter 8

Duke Dekim was worn thin with anxiety, as he paced end to end of the gazebo one more time before slumping on to the marble chair. Spring has arrived and Dekim chose to spend the morning in his now revived garden. The season was a celebration of renewal and peace, but Dekim's mood was entirely at odds with nature. He sighed and mentally ran through the things that went wrong again.

Bad news one: Trieze was still merrily alive and stood at his usual place at court today. Bad news two: Trieze announced an attempt on his life and explained how his family token had gone missing after the attack.

At least Trieze had not brought in the assassin that he had sent. It would be best if she was dead, but there was always the probability that she was captured and it was a matter of time before she caved in to the torture and testified against him...Or Trieze might have some plan to smuggle the Khushrenada token into his household and use that as an accusation.

Dekim could feel the beginning of a headache. Life was never so bad that it could not get any worse.

If that was the case, he had to stop all connections between his household and the Khushrenada family immediately, to maximize the difficulty for Treize to plant the Khushrenada token into his hands. It would best to prepare Trowa for some court games too, lest an accusation really took place in the future. Worst come to worst, they could deny everything and claim to be framed.

Dekim beckoned his right-hand man to him and gave his order.

"We have to cut all ties with the Khushrenada household for the time being. Warn all the servants about receiving gifts from strangers, and recall all staff currently in Trieze's lands. And don't let anyone from Trieze into this house, do you understand?"

The uniform-clad man gave a curt salute.

"Good...and do you happen to know what the young master is currently doing?"

"Your Highness, the young master is at the library with his slave."

Yes...that blonde good-for-nothing slut. He had forgotten all about him... Dekim thought as he rubbed his temple tiredly.

"Send someone to teach the young master court etiquettes. And send the slave to me. Tell the young master that I'll keep the slave for the time being, and that he better learn the court rules well if he don't want to see his toy harmed."

The man gave another salute and promptly went to execute his orders.

Turning to look at the beautiful scenery of the garden, Dekim contemplated how things would have been much easier... If only Leia and Trowa had not died and left him to deal with all this alone.

Spring was vibrant with energy and teeming with life. No wonder he hated this season.

* * *

Just when Quatre got used to the tranquil life he shared with Trowa again (he still called him Trowa instead of Triton out of habit), adversity stroke without warning and pulled him out of comfort zone - literally. He was sitting back to back with Trowa in the library, reading about the behaviours of sand cats, when some uniform-clad guards stomped in and pulled him away by his arm. He was not entirely surprised actually, considering how Dekim had treated him the last time they met. It was only a matter of time before Dekim remembered his existence. Quatre knew better than to struggle. 

Trowa was far from uncomplaining unlike his companion. Slowly but surely, not only had he grew to love the blonde mysterious boy, he became increasingly protective of him too. Maybe Quatre reminded him too much of his cute, cuddly felines - ferocious in appearance but soft and warm to hug...

But before the brunette can voice out his objections, one of the guards repeated Duke Dekim's wish for him to learn court etiquettes, and all complains died in his throat. Quatre noted in amusement that Trowa was actually capable of making an uncharacteristically stupid expression, with his mouth hanging open in shock.

_But...court etiquettes? Trowa?_

Dekim Barton must have royally screwed up something - the blonde thought as the guards let him away. Allowing Trowa to appear in courts was an incredibly risky move, considering how Trowa looked much younger than the real, deceased Trowa Barton. Suspicious rumours would spread like wild fire, and in worst case scenario a direct challenge on Trowa's identity may be issued.

Quatre was so caught up in his analyzing that he did not realized that he had been brought into the gardens until the bright sunlight blinded him momentarily. Blinking rapidly to adjust to the light, he could not help but gasp at the sight before him. The garden was now carpeted with lush young grass instead of the brown dry blades he had seen before. Yellow buds started to form on the Acacia trees, but it would be still some time before the flowers finally showed. In contrast, the flower bushes were already in full bloom. They were thorny instead of leafy, but the flowers surrounded the marble statues of the Gods with vivid colours and heavenly fragrance. Having grown up in the desert, Quatre thought he saw more green than in his whole life. It was breathtaking.

The guards took him to the gazebo where Dekim was. The Duke nodded briefly and sent them off to help in severing ties with the Khushrenada household, leaving only two as bodyguards. Quatre stood stiffly as Dekim eyed him from head to toe.

"You had Trowa wrapped around your little finger didn't you?" asked Dekim in all seriousness.

Quatre shook his head meekly.

"Even though civil intention is usually practiced when a noble practice homosexuality with his slave, it still would not do to keep you around. My heir will never learn the correct way to treat slaves, and I can't have him embarrass me in court..." The Duke tapped his forehead lightly with his finger, deep in thought.

The blonde boy frowned slightly and gulped in fear. Putting himself in Dekim's shoes, he could only think of two ways to solve the current problem, and both ways would be detrimental to his revenge against Trieze.

"It would be best to sent you to the circus, where I can keep an eye on you while separating you two..."

Exile, not death. It was the better of the two options, but nonetheless disastrous. The clockworks turned in his head as he mentally ran through his possible actions one by one, trying to find a workable way to stay in the household. Should he threaten Dekim with his knowledge of Trowa's real identity? No. That's suicide - Dekim would silence him immedaitely. He had Trieze's pendant...should he fake a spy from Krushrenada? No. No. That's even worst and totally spelled death. Should he announce his real identity and offer to work with Dekim to bring Trieze down? More workable, but still, it would be difficult to convince Dekim that the Winners did have a child. Furthermore, he would have to show his family token to Dekim as proof of his identity. It was highly likely that Dekim would confiscate the aquamarine ring and use it to control him...Was there any other way? Was there?

Oblivious to the activity in the Winner heir's head, Dekim continued with his decision.

"So...you shall leave for the circus the first thing tomorrow... No. On second thought, you shall leave immediately, before Trowa had a chance to protest. Guards!"

"Wait!! Wait, your highness! I have something to tell you!"

Gesturing for his guards to stay put, Dekim returned his attention to the slave.

"Yes?"

"Duke Dekim, I am no ordinary slave. I am Quatre Winner, son of Lord Winner and Quaterina Winner, the seventeenth and the rightful heir to the Winner lands and title!"

"Oh?" Dekim leaned forward in interest. "The Winners have no heir."

"They did," returned Quatre Winner with all the dignity of a feudal lord. "My existence was kept a secret to protect me from assassination and similar dangers. I have the Winner aquamarine ring to proof my identity."

"Even if you did have the ring, how can I be sure if you're not some servant boy who stole the Winner token in the chaos of the bandit attack? Everyone in Sank Kingdom knows that the Winners have no child. Your identity shall most definitely be challenged if I present you on the royal court. Moreover, even if you really are the lost Winner heir, why should I help you and establish an enemy for myself?"

Quatre bowed and smiled confidently.

"Noble Duke Dekim, the enemy of my enemy is my ally. I can help you bring down Trieze Khrushrenada if you can help me regain my rightful position."

Dekim stood at the tempting offer and paced out of the gazebo into the sunlight. Turing around to face the blonde boy once more, he opened his mouth to speak...

But the only sound that came out was a shocked gasp, as something dug its way into his back, leaving agony in its wake. He collapsed face down onto the grass, struggling to breathe. Quatre's blue eyes widened on seeing the arrow sticking out from the Duke's back. The guards were immediately by the fallen man's side, dragging him into the cover of the gazebo. Another arrow cut through the air and shot one of the guards in the head. He fell on top of the Duke - his body weight pushing the arrow clean through Dekim with a grotesque squish. Dekim screamed.

Quatre instinctively crouched beside the marble seat in the gazebo for cover. The one remaining guard rolled his dead colleague off the Duke and removed his jacket. He barked for the blonde to press the fabric against the Duke's wound. Quatre numbly obeyed as the laboured breathing of the Duke overwhelmed his senses.

The guard decided to risk it and ran to get help. He seemed successful at first, for he was moving too quick for the arrows. Yet a stray shot managed to hit him at the leg, causing him to fumble. The hidden archer took the chance to finish him off with another arrow through the heart. Quatre squeezed his eyes shut to block out the scene.

"Help me..." gasped Dekim as he clawed at the Winner heir's shirt, staining the white fabric red.

"I can't...I can't!" Quatre shook his head, fighting his urge to push the man away. Tears leaked from his eyes - but it was more of a biological reaction than tears of grief. He pressed the jacket fiercely against the Duke's wound, as Dekim's breathing bubbled and eventually stopped. The hand that clawed at Quatre's shirt went limp and fell to the floor.

For the longest time, the blonde boy sat dumbly in the blood-stained gazebo, immobilized by shock. Ten minutes later (he could have sworn that it was longer), the logically part of his brain told him that the situation did not look good for him, for he was completely unharmed in the assassination. It would be easy to conjure a conspiracy theory with him as the scapegoat.

_"I don't know and don't really care what you have up your sleeve. But can you please leave Duke Dekim out of it? After all, he has been good to me and my circus family all this years..."_

He had promised Trowa to leave Dekim out of his plans...he reminded himself as he pulled the Duke's dagger out from its sheath. But, as he slit the throat of the already dead Dekim with the dagger, he tried to convince himself that this would not count, as the Duke was already dead. He was not breaking his promise, was he? He was only using the circumstances to his full advantage.

Quatre mechanically proceed to slash his outer arms with the same dagger. Before long the Duke's right hand man re-entered the garden to report to Dekim. At the sight of the newcomer, the blonde stabbed himself in the thigh and screamed in pain. The man in uniform jogged to the source of the sound, and stared in disbelief at the bloody scene.

"Please..." Quatre pleaded, as he reached into his pocket and retrieved the jewel that Trieze gave him. "It hurts...help me! The assassin has dropped this when I struggled with him."

Reaching out to take the jewel with shaking hands, the man fumbled with the trinket before recognition lit up his eyes.

"But it is the Khushrenada crest!!" he exclaimed. "That treacherous murderer!"

* * *

I was too caught up in other animes lately that I gave too little attention to dear Quatre and Trowa. But...but...in my defense, Code Geass is such a good anime! I can't help but have this unhealthy addiction in Byronic/ anti-heroes... and Lelouch is such an interesting bastard. lol. 

chibiflowergirl - yes, the "missing" prince is with Trieze. He's Milliardo/Zechs.

Jess-eklom - The Winners kept the existence of their child a secret while the missing prince is the prince of the royal Peacecraft family..sorry that I made that confusing and thanks for sticking with me despite of the confusion :)

NatsumiNeko - Dekim found out before Trowa. XD But he died and brought that piece of knowledge into the grave along with himself...

KaL KeY - While this is definitely not "soon", this is an update nonetheless... enjoy!

phoenixfirekitsune - yeah...Trieze is a jerk. But Quatre isn't all that nice and sweet himself...and Trieze's plan backfired on him.

rowen raven - Indeed, Quatre did not play into Trieze's plan at all, since he recognize what that jewel is as he is a fellow nobleman. And Trowa is having such a hard time because love simply isn't really high on Quatre's priority list right now...

ChilledFlame - Thank you so much for the fav!! hugs Yup, you got it right, Trieze's plan backfired in this chapter as Quatre used it to his own advantage. Sorry for the confusion though, Mariemaia trembles because she's terrified of the scene before her.


End file.
